Unwrapping the Truth
by theSilverChef
Summary: It's Christmas time at Hogan Place. A little serendipity forces our two favorite prosecutors together in an amusing way.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters except the Mary Sues :) Dick Wolf is the master of the L&O universe._**

**_AN: This is my Christmas story... it's short, lighthearted, and romantic. It takes place during Season 20. I hope you all enjoy! _**

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><p><strong>Monday<strong>

Wrapped in her charcoal gray Pea coat and matching scarf, Connie stepped out of the elevator. She tugged off her knit cap and paused for a moment to admire the decorations that framed the 10th floor entryway. They had popped up over the weekend, most likely the doing of the Office Manager, Ida. It was a pleasant change from the year before, an incident that many in the office referred to as the Great Glittercide and Tinsel Massacre. She inhaled the crisp scent of pine wafting from the Christmas tree and smiled. It was her favorite time of year, and nothing could put a damper on her spirit, not even criminals or scrooges.

Speaking of... Jack could be heard barking grievances from deep inside the labyrinth of demi-walls, ringing phones, filing cabinets, and cluttered desks. "Christ, that better not be a Nativity set. Somebody find Ida! Apparently I have to explain to her, yet again, that unless she wants to trigger a lawsuit, the decorations _must_ be non-denominational."

Connie chuckled and exchanged an amused expression with the receptionist, Eve. "Merry Christmas!"

"Bah, Humbug!" Eve replied sarcastically, beckoning Connie over to the window. She handed her a petite box wrapped in green iridescent paper. "This is for you. A _very _handsome suitor, who asked to remain anonymous, dropped it off for you about 20 minutes ago."

Connie smirked, knowing that she didn't have to wait long for his identity to be revealed. Eve leaned closer to the partition, causing her antler headband to jingle. "Leo Sterner, the geek chic ADA from Cybercrimes."

"Oh, _him_." Leo was a tall and extremely good-looking thirty-something prosecutor with a penchant for pinstriped suits and Arthur-Milleresque eyeglasses. What little interaction she'd had with him had been pleasant, but as far as she was concerned, they were no where near the gift exchanging level. Truthfully, she felt disappointed. A small, exceptionally defiant part of her had hoped that the Secret Santa might be Mike, but _only_ because he still owed her big time for a few choice remarks that were made in open court the month before…. At least that's that what she was telling herself.

Flush with the embarrassment of her assumption, she fumbled to open the gift. Inside was an ordinary, unremarkable black thumb drive on a bed of crinkled red and green tissue paper. Connie frowned, holding the item up for further scrutiny. "Hmm… it's a bit anticlimactic."

Eve shrugged. "Well, look on the bright side: he's concerned about the security and portability of your files."

"Be still my foolish heart," Connie quipped, rounding the corner and heading toward her desk. She set the gift box atop a stack of files and hung her coat over her chair. Following a hunch, she turned on her computer and slipped the flash drive into the USB port. After a few moments of searching, she found a file titled **_Open Me_**. She chewed her lip and suppressed an unsolicited grin. "Clever…"

"What's that?" a familiar voice queried from behind. She turned slightly to find Mike looming over her, sipping his mug of coffee appreciatively. She noted that he was wearing his black shirt, a rare occurrence. Blue was a much more complimentary color. Wait…when had she started keeping track of his outfits, let alone which ones looked best?

"Nothing…" she fibbed as she double-clicked the icon. Her lips parted with shock and mortification. A large animated card appeared on her screen, asking her to be an escort to the Manhattan District Attorney Christmas Party, with an obnoxious rendition of _Holly Jolly Christmas _playing in the background. She couldn't turn away. It could be likened to witnessing a terrible train wreck. Connie was so entranced by the gaudiness that she didn't notice that Mike had leaned in more closely.

"That _is_ clever: throw caution to the wind and hope that the creativity outshines the humiliation. How can a woman resist?" His ice-blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

Okay, that was strike three. Since _when_ did his eye-color matter? She made a mental postscript to stop watching _Lifetime_ before bed. She quickly minimized the window and redirected the conversation. "Will you be in attendance at this Holly Jolly soirée?"

"Food, booze, hangovers, and walks of shame on the company dime? I wouldn't miss it. So, who is this Lothario?" Mike set his mug on the desktop and reached over Connie, reopening the file despite her vociferous objection. His elbow narrowly missed her chest, and she rolled the chair slightly to avoid the awkward contact. "Leo Sterner… Wait, wait, _wait_ a _minute_. The hipster with the ridiculous glasses from Cybercrimes? I should have known; this has giant tool written all over it."

"Be nice," she scolded. She quickly recaptured her mouse, ignoring the current of unfamiliar electricity that stemmed from a brief touch of their fingertips. "He obviously put in a considerable amount of time and effort."

"Don't tell me you're actually thinking of accepting his invitation. Listen, Connie, I get that it's the holidays and you want to be charitable… but this is a little extreme, don't you think?" Mike stood and casually tucked one hand into his pocket, retrieving his coffee with the other. "I mean, talk about a downgrade. The guy prosecutes hackers and identity thieves."

"'Said the jealous lawyer'…"

"I'm not jealous," he declared firmly, heedlessly backing toward his office. He proclaimed innocence, but his lips threatened to betray his deception with a smile. "I'm just saying: stick with your own kind, and you can sit at the cool kids' table."

Connie rolled her eyes, though deep down, she thoroughly enjoyed their fleeting moments of friendly and informal interplay. Everyone had the idea that Mike Cutter was a dull, lonely, unstoppable, and fanatical machine. Connie knew, however, that he had an irresistible charm, and, on occasion, she found herself almost _craving_ long cab rides, walks to the Courthouse, lunchtime chats, and the proximity provided by his office.

She watched the digital clock on her monitor turn to 9:00, resigning to the fact that ornaments, blinking lights, and fruitless thoughts about inappropriate crushes couldn't stop crime.


	2. Chapter 2

**_AN: And now, the epic conclusion of my Christmas story lol. June, this is for you! :) _**

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><p><strong>Friday<strong>

"Mike, it's 6:30. The restaurant is 50 blocks north, and I still need to get ready. I'm going to be late." Connie sighed and rubbed her temples in frustration. She couldn't help but feel that he was stalling on purpose. Just to torment him, she'd agreed to be Leo's date to the Christmas party. She thought she had gotten away with her wicked scheme—Mike's initial reaction to the news was bothered, but futile. However, as the minutes ticked by, she began to feel more and more like she was being subjected to revenge; an elaborate retaliation involving evidence organization, research, and composing (and _re_writing) subpoenas.

"You look fine. Where's the copy of Slater's will?" He refused to meet her gaze, leaning casually against the cluttered window ledge. Hmm… Was that his version of a compliment?

"Here," she leaned over the desk with the file, "and I didn't spend $80 on a dress so that I can _not _wear it."

"You spent $80 on a dress?" He continued to intently scan the document in his hands, puzzlement twisting his eyebrows.

"You spend more on hair products," she retorted. She ignored his slightly stupefied glower and scribbled her signature and date across the bottom of one final subpoena. She rose from her seat and collected her drafts and notes from the auxiliary desk. "I think we're done here—well, at least _I _am."

Connie crossed the walkway to her workstation and stowed her stack of papers in one of the drawers. She tugged on her coat, turned off the lamp, and heaved her messenger bag over her shoulder. She headed for the elevator and was surprised to find that Mike had caught up to her. "Oh, so you _are_ coming?"

He stared at the relief of the silver doors in front of him, giving a noncommittal nod. A muted _Ding!_ beckoned them inside the wood-paneled compartment, and they stood in silence bathed in a harsh fluorescent glow. As the digital display indicated each passing floor, Mike anxiously jingled the keys in his pocket, and Connie thought about the most expedient and efficient order of doing things once she got home. Suddenly, the lights flickered and the car lurched to an abrupt halt. Unprepared for the rather jarring motion, Connie toppled into Mike, who dropped his red leather briefcase to steady her. Her shoulder bag slugged him in the leg quite roughly, but he paid no attention, as he was too inebriated by the feel of her waist beneath his fingertips. They lingered in the embrace for a split second too long before she abruptly pulled away. The frosted glass-covered lighting across the ceiling buzzed wildly before fading to black.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Connie groaned, slumping against the wall. The absence of the characteristic mechanical drone and the hum of the heating system suggested that they were experiencing a power outage. "If I didn't know better, I'd think that this was part of your plan."

She heard Mike fumbling with the button panel, cursing when his attempts to call for help were unsuccessful. "Dammit. Do you remember the fire drill we had a couple months ago? 'The emergency button and phone will still operate in the event of a power outage.'"

"Pffff. You believed that? This building is over 70 years old." Connie pressed a random button on her phone, prompting the backlight to illuminate the elevator with an eerie blue cast. "Great. No reception."

Having the sinking feeling that they were going to be there a while, she tossed her bag onto the floor and sat down. A similar rustle of fabric and the faint movement of a silhouette indicated that Mike had joined her. After a few moments of indulgence, his voice pervaded the darkness. "Just for argument's sake, how would this be my doing?"

"What?" she turned to face him; well, as best as she could in their pitch-black surroundings.

"You said that this was part of 'my plan.'"

"I don't know; it was a cursory statement..." Connie felt her stomach twisting, but she was not sure if it was the gnaw of hunger or humiliation.

"If you say so." His words made her skin crawl. She completely loathed when people used that passively insulting cliché.

She closed her eyes and cringed. When she had wished for more impromptu moments with Mike, she wasn't hoping for a trip to the elevator confessional. But, she was trapped in a corner, literally, and the neurotic part of her couldn't give him the satisfaction of making her squirm. She was going to weather the storm like an adult. "I think that… you feel threatened by this Sterner guy and that… you created extra work for us tonight to keep me from spending time with him."

"Oh, really… And what gives you that idea?" Only a trained ear could pick up on the edginess of his tone.

"Mike, you may be a mystery to some, but to me, you're an open book."

"Am I? And what, pray tell, is my plot?"

Connie toyed with the fabric of her coat, deciding that she and her colleague were heading full steam toward awkward and uncomfortable. "Do we have to talk about this right now?"

"We're not going anywhere for a while, as you can tell. We can either play Tetris on our phones or have this conversation. It's up to you."

She knew exactly what he meant by _this_ conversation. Grateful for the camouflaging darkness, she delved into the inferno. "Chapter one: a charming maverick of a prosecutor is assigned to work with tough-as-nails female ADA with a heart of gold."

"I think I've read this before, but continue..."

"They are the dynamic duo, but he develops an internal conflict when he realizes that he's-…"

"-…attracted to her."

Connie's breath caught in her throat. Was he admitting to it? Her apprehension was alien to her; she had her suspicions—call them desires if you will—yet it seemed so strange to hear him say it aloud. It was time to face the truth. "Mike… when we… when _you _went after Woll…"

"If you're asking if I made it personal," he interjected, "the answer is yes."

Connie had no reply other than, "Oh."

"He was like that obnoxious kid who runs around the neighborhood, gloating that his bicycle is shinier and his sneakers are newer. Even though I managed to not punch him in the face for being such a scumbag, I still behaved less than professionally. I'm sorry."

"Oh no—I think I take unprofessionalism to a whole 'nother level."

Mike was surprised by her candid reference to her relationship with Woll, something that had previously seemed off-limits. "I… um… I plead the Fifth."

"Go ahead," she nudged his shoulder, "you can give me grief. I deserve it. You know, they should teach a course in Law school: The Art of Saving Face: How to Avoid Lusting After Co-workers and the Subsequent Chaos of Sexual Indiscretion… 101."

"Two years ago, I'd have passed with flying colors. I'm not so sure about now," Mike chuckled, the implication of his words wiping the smile from Connie's lips. He sensed the shift in her disposition and nervously cleared his throat. "Hypothetically, let's say that I _were_ bothered by your date. What difference would that make?"

"I suppose I would tell you…" Connie thought carefully about her response. Her heart and head were on very different planes. She wanted nothing more to test the waters, but the singe of past experience brought her to her senses. "I would tell you that whatever you may feel is… reciprocated. _But_, in the interest of maintaining the status quo and preserving our rapport-…"

"We keep pretending," Mike concluded. Connie was right. It didn't matter that she was a diversion, a welcomed distraction from routine and toil. There was a boundary that they could never, ever, _ever_ cross. Nothing good could come of it.

A tense hush fell over the claustrophobic space. Connie had turned down many men in her life, but never had she felt such regret and sadness. She thought of reaching out to him, silently convincing herself that what happened in the elevator _could_ technically stay in the elevator.

Just then, the whine of machinery and reemergence of light brought them to their feet. They were once again approaching the lobby. In strained quietude, they gathered their belongings and avoided looking at one another. They quickly stepped out onto the marbled floor, terrified that the electricity would vanish again right along with their will power. On the street outside, they stopped to exchange self-conscious glances.

"See you at the party?" Connie asked timidly.

"Actually, I think I'm going to head home. Goodnight, Connie." Mike turned to walk toward Centre Street, pausing with an afterthought. "Have a good time tonight."

Connie let out a sad sigh. "Mike, wait!"

He stopped, but kept his back to her.

"Hypothetically: It's getting late, and I'm tired… Honestly, I don't really feel like getting glammed up for an office party. There's a great bar by my apartment. I'm thinking of heading over there instead. Maybe… maybe you could join me."

Mike faced her, considering the proposition. "What about your $80 dress?"

"It's still got the tag on it," she smiled.

"Fair enough, " he shrugged and offered up his arm. Connie eagerly rushed to his side, hooking her gloved fingers around his surprisingly strong bicep. Chatting idly, they disappeared into the evening bustle of the City.

...

_**The End**_


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